Christopher Leppek - Abattoir

Cross nodded his head. “Good. Let’s do it.”

Wingnut set up the next shot without being instructed—a quick hand-held, two camera shot with Cross in the lobby, interviewing Greg and Lisa.

He asked them what they had found in their explorations, whether their equipment had registered anything unusual.

The spiritual assistants didn’t disappoint.

Greg, portrayed in the show as an apprentice medium, spun it like a pro.

“There’s definitely something very sinister within the walls of the Exeter… something deeply disturbed. It doesn’t like us being here.”

Lisa, the technician of the pair, then gave her own contribution.

“We picked up several faint EVP’s on the fourth and second floors. Nothing coherent at this stage, but I’m positive there’s something substantive there which should come out in later analysis.

“I also sensed temperature anomalies and variations in several locations, but this is what’s interesting, Mr. Cross: not only did we pick up extremely cold readings—as low as 30 degrees in one case—but also read abnormally hot .”

Cross raised his eyebrows in staged interest.

“And where was this hot reading, Lisa?”

“In the basement. In a room almost directly beneath us. It’s very large and I’m convinced that it serves as the epicenter of the disturbances in this building.”

“Greg, do you concur?”

The young man closed his eyes for a moment, as if reflecting on the question.

“Definitely.”

Cross turned to the camera.

“My able assistants have guided me to the place where I must go. Their spiritualistic and technological expertise have once again given me what I need to begin.”

He raised his chin, allowing the long shadows to cast dramatic lines along his face.

“I invite you to join me as we venture deep below, into the very bowels of the Exeter, to face whatever entity plagues this cursed house.”

After the cut, Wingnut barked instructions to the crew to make their move to the basement. He gave them ten minutes to be ready to go.

Cross seemed especially low-key tonight. He was usually tyrannical in the way that he ran a shoot; usually taking over directorial responsibilities himself, despite the presence of Wingnut and his assistant.

Not tonight. He seemed distracted, bothered by something. Unusual.

Downstairs, things weren’t going well.

The crew was having a hard time transporting equipment down the narrow staircase that led into the cavernous basement.

The cameraman was frustrated too; at Cross’s direction, he’d set up the main shot, with the ramp visible in a long diagonal leading upwards. Cross would narrate before it, his face and the outline of the ramp softly lit in an eerie glow.

But the angles seemed somehow off, no matter how much he adjusted the equipment or repositioned himself. It was as if the place were subtly warping every time he blinked, entirely destroying whatever composition he settled on.

“Damn it!” he barked for the third time. “I can’t get this thing lined up. What the fuck?”

Cantrell, standing in an empty corner with Su Ling and Anna, understood exactly what he meant.

“Just get it right, Dan!” an impatient Cross barked at him. “We don’t have all night.”

In their unobtrusive corner, Su Ling whispered to Cantrell.

“What is this place, Alex? I don’t like it down here.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “I don’t like it either. But it’s a handy place to store the trash and recycling.”

“But what did it used to be? It’s got a very creepy feel to it.”

“I’m not surprised. According to the original plans, this used to be the holding pen. This floor space was divided up into back-and-forth rows, separated by iron railings. They used to drive the livestock into this room. This is where they waited their turn to be led up the ramp. We took out all the railings when we did the renovations.”

Su Ling looked at the ramp and shivered.

“You don’t have to tell me where that ramp used to lead.”

He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

They were jolted by a loud pop. The reek of electrical smoke filled the room.

“Shit!” one of the lighting technicians called out.

“What now?” Wingnut demanded.

“Fucking bulb just blew, the main spot. I just replaced it this afternoon.”

Cross cursed.

“What the hell is wrong with you people? What is this, fucking high school? Amateur hour? Let’s get it right. Now! I’m getting tired of all this bullshit.”

He faced the floor and muttered quietly, “And this place gives me the fucking creeps anyway.”

Wingnut, the only one who heard him, started. He had never, in all the years he’d worked for him, heard Cross say anything like that.

After a few more minutes of scrambling, the crew was once again ready to shoot. Wingnut silenced the set and Cross took his position in the faint amber glow before the ramp.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for, my friends” he began in a deep tone. “Our spiritual technicians have identified this subterranean room as the source, the epicenter, if you will, of the disturbances in this dreadful building known as the Exeter.”

He paused, and waved his arm across the darkened space. He closed his eyes and put his fingertips to his temples.

“My God. My God!”

Wingnut nodded and smiled. He could already tell this was going to be great.

“Can you feel it?” Cross asked no one in particular. “I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. This place is incredibly powerful.”

He took his fingertips from his temples and wiped them across his brow.

“A blast of hot air,” he said to the cameraman. “Right where I’m standing. The presence of a spiritual energy is almost always manifested in a blast of icy cold air. This is entirely different. This is very hot. Moist. Steamy.”

Su Ling turned to Cantrell, her expression questioning. Neither of them felt any temperature change.

He nodded his head and she understood. It was time to take Anna away from whatever was starting to happen here. With one motion, she lifted the child into her arms and made her way up the stairs.

Cross licked his lips, continuing his monologue:

“And something else. An energy . I can’t quite tell what it is. Something very strong, very threatening. But pleading as well. Helpless and savage at the same time.”

Wingnut whispered to the director outside in the van:

“I don’t know where he’s going with this,” he said as softly as possible. “But it’s kicking ass, isn’t it?”

“Copy that.”

As if trying to embrace the shaft of hot air only he could feel, Cross raised his arms above his head, his eyes following them.

“Whoever dwells in this place,” he boomed, his voice echoing in the chamber, “ whatever dwells in this place, heed my words! I am Cross. I command you to listen. I order you to speak, or give a sign. Confirm your presence. Communicate with us.”

He stood there, his arms and face raised to the ceiling.

Nothing.

He lowered his arms, turning back to the camera.

“The spirit resists us. We’ve seen it before, many times. Perhaps it will take a little more coaxing.”

Time for plan B.

“I don’t want you to fear me. I am here to help you. I am here to release you from whatever chains bind you to this place, whatever curse commands you to stay, whatever dark force forbids your escape.”

“Good shit,” Wingnut whispered into his mike.

“Please let me help you. Speak in whatever voice or manner you can. I am here to listen. I can help you find the light.”